I awoke before sunrise, rushed out the door to work in the chilled darkness, my hair wild with sleep, my heart and limbs craving coffee. As I drove south along Highway 12 the sun began giving evidence along the mountain line that separates Sonoma from Napa. The internet reported that today would be rainy, that and cold. The light seemed unusually rich in redness, the morning warning. I chatted with Selavy on the phone as he liberated the world from its other riches in his new role as an after-hours photo-pirate, a corporate corsair.
He told me stories of wonderful woe and sadness, giving specific flavor to an otherwise unstoried sunrise.
I headed south and then west along the edge of San Pablo Bay, darting along East 37, glimpsing the sun out the window to the left, almost behind me now as it emerged, reflecting its deep reds across the vast waters and up above in the clouds. Then I was up and heading over the bridge connecting Marin with Sonoma, looking down into the waters of the Petaluma River as the bridge gave scarlet, crimson and cardinal views... its red opinions.
Selavy's purloining continued unabated, mixed with tales of unusual sorrow. We chatted about the strangeness of the world, about its unexpected nature, the wretchedness and woe, the occasionally unending despair.
Then we took some time to laugh about it all... about the upshot, the outcome, the results... the dejected pantomime of comedic life.
I departed one highway for yet another, an even larger, faster one. Gliding along the elevated loop that finally ends in an on-ramp the sun ceased being merely an horizon event. The sunlight across the waters went from being a spectrum of mainly reds to many yellows. It went from being an earth event to an openly celestial one, making its daily transition from considerable to absolute.
Its first rays hitting my face directly as I completed the semi-circle and merged onto 101, heading south towards what I will be forced to call my day.